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Like she always did.
She would not think again about placing her lips on his, between those glistening tusks. Or, heavens forbid, opening her legs to feel their tips scraping her inner thighs as he…
Oh, goddessssssss.
Shona raised her chin and let her blue eyes meet his. In a voice full of confidence she didn’t feel, she said, “Of course, Tor. I’d be more than happy to visit Orc Island with you.”
Chapter
Five
“Three hundred.”
“Two fifty.”
“Two seventy-five.”
“Two sixty.”
“Done,” said the selkie.
Tor huffed and pulled out his wallet. This guy was apparently the most reliable operator in the bay when it came to a passage across to Orc Island. Not that he looked reliable to Tor. He had a scraggly beard and shifty eyes and he smelled oily.
But if he knew how to navigate the Motham Channel, Tor would have to put up with the greasiness of the guy. The problem was the whirlpool that could spring up temperamentally in the narrow stretch of water between the bay and the island. Tor remembered the care needed on his trips with his dad all those years ago. His dad would carefully watch the weather patterns and the swell for changes. Not to mention constantly checking for human patrol boats. They’d have copped huge fines if any of the authorities knew they’d been on the island.
That was how it was in Motham when he was a kid. There was no Hole In The Wall district, no trendy cafés and bars. Monsters couldn’t mix with humans without fear of reprisal, not back then.
If you dared leave the walls of Motham without a work permit or went out to sea and got caught, you were in seriously deep shit.
That’s why his trips with Dad had always been as night fell, on calm evenings. They’d sailed with just a little lamp at the helm to ward off the darkness, hoping they didn’t miss the bulk of the island and end up heading out toward the deep waters inhabited by hostile krakens and gods only knew what other creatures of the deep.
When they got there, they’d moor and pick their way over the cliffs to the cave, crawl inside and eat the bread and dried salted beef they’d brought with them. They’d wake with the first hint of morning light and have an hour at the most to explore before getting in their small boat and coming home. Before human boats began policing the waters.
But he still remembered the verdant green interior, the freshwater pools, the tranquility of it all. The parakeets calling at dawn and strange forest creatures, little blue furry greks and copper-colored kirikee, the tree squirrels, two species from the mainland that had taken up residence here to avoid extinction.
They’d even found the ruins of some old orc houses, stains on the stone walls where dark fires had burned.
The bones of the animals they’d eaten.
The paintings on the cave walls, hunting scenes drawn with ochre and fingers.
He’d felt a link to his heritage as a boy here, deep and visceral. Maybe that was what had spurred him on to seek more from life. To refuse to be persecuted and reviled and forced to work in darkness day in, day out.
But he’d never, not in his wildest dreams, imagined he’d ever be in a position to buy the whole damn island.
Tor handed the Selkie the money, wads of old Motham banknotes. “Be ready at 2 pm,” he said curtly.
“Sure, boss.” The selkie pulled at a tuft of his wiry beard.
Tor turned on his heels and made his way back through the docklands. He had too much pent-up energy, he’d walk it out, find a bite to eat somewhere. Everywhere, monsters were at work, mainly orcs and minotaurs, loading containers that would take the precious cargo from the mines swiftly out of Motham, avoiding the channel and heading north toward other human lands far from here. Tor guessed he was more a part of that world now, but it struck him how much of Motham’s industry was still controlled by humans.
His senses were suddenly assailed by the most delicious smell.
Tor’s nostrils quivered.
Chowder. Fucking chowder. Ye gods, he’d forgotten how good Motham Bay chowder was. He stared at the little bow-windowed café, with its tanks of live crabs and crayfish outside. It was very basic, just crates for stools and makeshift tables hewn out of planks of wood. All kinds of species were crammed together eating creamy chowder and chatting.
Suddenly he had the urge to bring Shona here. Even though she’d probably look out of place in her smart suit, he sensed she’d enjoy the experience. Mind you, this morning when they’d been house hunting, she’d seemed a little less perfectly groomed. Her suit was slightly crumpled, her hair a little tousled.
